Into Greenrun the very next day, leaving the cave when the storm breaks around dawn and leaves its dew and damp dripping from the leaves and mosses of the forest, steaming off like rising cyclones and steam vents of moisture as the day heats quickly, creating altogether a jungle like humidity which leaves The Knights quickly drenched in sweat as they ride atop their beasts. Past the outskirt marking buildings of the town, tumbledown shacks of wood and tin and patch up doors and outhouses, watching from them the dirty faces and clothes of destitution. A sustenance farmer dressed only in overalls obese and ruddy with a piece of wheat dangling from his mouth, two twin girls in black pigtails swinging each other on a ragged tire swing, a woman of unusual height washing clothes in murky water outside her shack. Over a set of abandoned train tracks rusted and overgrown with weeds and draped in kudzu like a curtain, over a small plank footbridge and there into the environs of the town itself. Rising through the air a pleasant stench of town life, the mixed evergreen scents of logging men coupling with frying street food and other more exotic scents of spices and wares hung out in the warming day rising along the wind.
Below a wrought iron gate with blown open doors on the top of which reads on wooden sign in painted letters simply “Greenrun”, and into the main street of town. Greenrun is a crossroads town, a merging conjunction of perhaps several hundred folk of all colors and creeds brought together down this backwater neck of woods perched on a wide creek named aptly “Little Green”. Its buildings stand as tall ramshackles of clapboard and stone, brick. and mortar, lining its X shaped main streets with roads heading off in directions Northeasterly and westerly and Southeaster and westerly both, their Road being the one traveling Southwest. These X shaped streets form a zigzagged main courtyard at the center of which exists a deep and huge stone well of cobble and dangling copper pot, upon which sit a dozen children of black, white, features and shades in between and the hand me down clothing of merchants, workmen, vagrants, foreigners of strange lands of strange clothes and pagan traditions. These children a mirror of the town as a whole, all around strange scripts and the accented chatters of folks of a puzzle of backgrounds, creole languages and ways of speaking mingling and rising on the air and through it all an underlying pulsebeat of humanity among these street stalls of fried food and caller manned storefronts. An amazement of sight and sound, in the windows of apartments and lean to’s scenes of human mudanity and in the seedy inns and cantinas wild acts of the improbable and improper, colorful whores like peacocks and gamblers calling with gap toothed grins and mouths stuck with cigarillos, cigarettes, pipes all ablaze their cherries glowing and grinning like crimson amethysts in the low dusk of orange-violet hinting towards scarlet. Running among the streets chasing each others tails stray dogs and cats of patched hair and wagging tail, mongrel and desperate creatures of blind eyes, missing ears, missing teeth, startling and strange deformities. The Knights all looking about in a twilight trance, grins and eyes wide at the lowdown scene so unlike their proper raising among the King’s Castle of Dullwater.
Sunny nudges Jesse riding behind his position in point and motions towards a gaudy three story inn of bright pink paint with a sign of a sly and smiling devil under which reads “The Devils Cherry”.
“We ought to get some real beds for the night.” Jesse scratches at his chin.
“Well. I don't know.”
“We ought to.” Jesse sighs. Therein and streaming out of the saloons black batwing doors a bang up piano tune, jaunting and jiving rising and crescendoing at frantic pace and coupled with it the sounds of hooting voices of gamblers and drinking men.
“I s’pose.” Jesse says. Sunny turns around with a cat's grin to the rest of the knights.
“We going drinking.” He says. They tie up their horses and mules at the hitching post among the company of assorted equestrians and burden beasts snorting at their presence. Beneath the post is a water trough and the horses get to drinking greedily in the hot day. The Knights walk through the mud in front of the saloon in which is sprinkled broken glass and more than a hint of blood and then up through the batwing doors with Jesse leading, taking off his hat and spilling out his red and sweaty hair as all the eyes of the saloon turn towards the band of five young men. Almost immediately the room lapses into silence at the sight of them, untrusting and squinted eyes looking up the fresh faces with more than a little contempt. Even The Piano Player turns to them, black hair falling sweat stained over young face flushed with exhaustion. Jesse stops a moment and hangs his hat on the hatrack, the rest of his fellows following suit as they file in line towards the bar and take there five seats amongst the red leather stools.
Looking upon them with a toothpick dangling from his mouth is The Barkeep, a tall black with frizzy hair and a massive burn scar covering the right side of his face. His dark eyes squint.
“How old are ye?” He says.
“Old enough to drink.” Sunny says.
“That's not an answer.”
“Bout eighteen, more or less.” The Barkeep snorts and shakes his head.
“And we’re knights.” Duncan says.
“Well, I don't really give a damn that yer knights. But business is business.”
“Well, in that case. Five shots of whiskey.” Sunny says plopping down on the table a knuckle of silver, round and shining in the light. The Barkeep pockets it and pours them out their shots, a much healthier color than the drink of the night before but still of slightly spooky tint. Jesse puts a hand on his shot and looks back and over the faces of the saloon who have resumed their degeneracies without much care for the knights. Dice hit felt, chips roll, cards are splayed out there lying on a blackjack table nearby a three of hearts and a king, bad pull. An enormous crystal chandelier of dubious authenticity dangles sparkling in the foyer, looking upon it from the interior balconies of all three stories chattering whores and businessmen as drunk as those in the saloon. Jesse downs his drink, feeling the slide of liquor comforting to his sinuses and throat.
“Fine liquor.” Sunny says.
“Fine as ye’ll find in Greenhorn.” The Barkeep says.
“Lots of trade here?” Giles says.
“Quite a bit. Riverfolk and land merchants. Nearby there’s some logging and farming.”
“Ranching?”
“Not much ranching. Not the space for it.” Giles looks around the bar, there sitting on the other stools a collection of solemn looking drunks. One man with spooky amber eyes and pallid skin stares at them with a glass of emerald absinthe between his hands.
“What about rebels?” Giles says, leaning over the bar. The Barkeep grimaces.
“Ain't ought to be talking about rebels in a place like this.”
“You house them?”
“Everyone houses them.”
“Why, we ought to put this whole goddamn place under arrest then.” Sunny says righteously. The Barkeep laughs in his face.
“Good luck with that.” He says. Sunny grumbles.
“Aye, that don't sound feasible.” Giles lectures Sunny.
“No it dont. You dont got enough bullets for all the rebels in this place.” The Barkeep says, turning to polish glasses on their stands. The Spooky-Eyed Man stands and spits off onto the floor, moving behind the knights without them much noticing. He breathes down Giles’ neck and Giles whips around.
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“You talkin bout rebels?” The Spooky-Eyed Man hisses.
“That we are. And what of it?” Giles says. Sets of eyes are turning to them from the saloon floor and the room is quickly growing silent, the only sound The Piano Player testing the great black and white keys of his instrument.
“Nothin of it. Just wondering.”
“Alright then. Why don't you move along.” Duncan says. From one of the corner booths a stirring of nervous boots.
“I might.”
“It wasn't a suggestion.” Sunny says, spitting onto the man's boots. The man meets his eyes and in them something wild. From the corner booth three men stand, looking to be workmen by their hardened faces and clothes, moving towards the Young Knights.
“Don't cause any trouble now.” The Barkeep says.
“We ain't.” The Spooky-Eyed Man says. Standing here he doesn't look to be much of a man at all, maybe only fifteen or sixteen and with a boyish haircut and face.
“We aint either, but troubles going down. So one of us must be lying.” Sunny says. The Spooky-Eyed Kids' hands twitch and Morgan coughs loudly, stands up and between Sunny and The Kid.
“Alright now. Let's not have any issue here.” At The Kids side come his three comrades, all with meanness ripe in their eyes. The Kid eyes Sunny up and down and raises one hand.
“We ain't got no issue. Watch yer words.” He says, and walks away. His fellows look upon The Knights a moment more and follow, and the congregation files out through the batwing doors and into the streets. Sunny shakes his head and turns back to The Barkeep, in his brown eyes an unmistakable bother.
“Another round of drinks, yeah?” He says, putting another of their silver knuckles down on the table.
Therein drunken debauchery commences, outside the sun giving way to three quarter moon like a silver eye watching over the boys sins as the night grows long and the drunkenness longer, senses given way to ecstasy. Another round of drinks, then another, then another, coins drained and shot glasses of whiskey, tequila, bottles of beer and stranger cocktails all scattered there from an above view looking like strange diatoms of brown and green and pale, the stench of liquor rising in the air from the bar. Soon in their arms as they giggle and guffaw pretty whores clambering to be paid with feign affection in their eyes, scratching at the boys chins and purring and crossing their legs over their parts of questionable gender. The boys are at the gambling tables shooting dice and trying to figure out the rules of poker, playing along and antagonizing with the folks of the bar, threatening all the while a shiver of violence rising as their guns hang and fists hang there so powerful and tantalizing.
A clattering of dice on a table, box car willy on those black eyed dentine squares. Flipping over of cards, ace of hearts and ten of suit to match, blackjack. Jesse whoops, grins, throws another drink down his gullet. His arms numb now, the faces around him looking quite a bit prettier than usual. In his arms a whore who looks not a day over sixteen, chestnut haired and wide smiled with blue and glittering paint forming cat like traces about her eyes. He slips onto her warm thigh a coin face of gold and kisses her, the feeling not at all like he imagined it would be but not unpleasant.
Arguing with The Barkeep now, realizing halfway through the argument he has forgotten what it's about and so he curses and raises a cold bird instead, sticks his tongue out and grins. The Barkeep produces from beneath the bar a club of heavy oaken weight and brings it around in a threatening gesture and Jesse jumps back wide eyed and grinning, hooting and hollering as he drags his fellow out of the batwing doors and into the warm and sultry night time scenes of Greenhorn. Wandering there under electric string lights glowing and abuzz with moths, through the distorted and painless world of utter drunkenness walking ten abreast like some grotesque birds of paradise, kissing at The Whores neck-what was her name again?-as they roam from saloon to saloon. Thrown out of one for yelling, the third for public urination, the fourth they fight. Sunny gets the wise idea of lifting from the purses of a bunch of young ladies and soon their miller boyfriends are shoving and pushing, and Sunny only raises his hands in disearnest defense. There laying on one of the tables an empty bottle of whiskey and Sunny brings it around smashing it against the foremost head, soon a frenzy of flying limb and fist.
“Who the fuck are we fighting?” Duncan asks, in both of his arms chokeholding a man each.
“Who the fuck cares?” Jesse says, something wild in his eyes. No guns are drawn and presumably no corpses are made and The Knights are out onto the street now in their arms four whores, the fifth having had the good sense to wander off before catastrophe strikes. They wander out of town and along forest road where good natured and destitute folks watch them with shaking head and glinting crucifix, one man quite literally holding his aloft and reciting at them ancient verses as they holler and curse at him.
“Thirteen thirteen! Let us walk in decency, as in the daylight, not in carousing and drunkenness and promiscuity-”
“Oh, stuff it.” Sunny calls. The Man curses at them and then he is too off behind the bend and they are into the night, stopping to rest at a circle of stumps at the edge of what is presumably a logging camp. Jesse closes his eyes a moment and vomits, moaning as a thin string of fiery gruel sprays out onto the nettles, him seeming there like some grotesque and ruddy dragon as he crouches with cat back and hurls over and over. He groans.
“Ye’ll be alright Jesse.” Morgan says, grinning wide across his twin face and his scar gleaming in the silvery moonlight.
“I ain't gonna be alright.”
“Oh, don't say that.”
“I hope I'm not alright because if I am I'll have to vomit again.” Jesse grins. Morgan looks off to the field of stumps and squints, suddenly putting a hand on his pistol.
“Jesse.”
“Let me die.”
“No, Jesse. Look.” All of the party looking off now to the stump field, Jesse turning last and wiping at his mouth with blurry and teary eyes. They see there The Spooky-Eyed Kid and his fellows walking towards them all in a row, in their hands weapons of wicked make. One a club, one a hammer, one a knife and one even a rifle-guns a rarity in this country.
“Howdy.” Giles says, stepping to the front of the group as his whore reaches at his shoulder.
“We ain't here to make company.” The Spooky-Eyed Kid says, twirling his bat in his hands. Jesse wipes at his eyes and puts a hand on his right gun, feeling the fingers twitch there and convulse as if they have a mind of their own, the first and ragged taste of killing fever running its way up and into his brain.
“You picked the wrong fight.” Giles says.
“A real bad fight.” Sunny drawls, pulling his pistol out of its holster and thumbing down its hammer. The sound gives The Kids fellow some pause but The Kid only steps closer, drunk in sway and wild in eye.
“You best back up.” Duncan says, stepping forwards and rolling up his sleeves. The Kid stops there right in front of Giles only a few yards out, fingers thrumming on his bat.
“I won't do no such thing. You embarrassed me back there.”
“You gonna be a whole lot more than embarrassed if you dont back the fuck up right now.” Duncan says on his usually gentle face a sneer. The Kids gun toting fellow raises it and aims it uncertainly at the party.
“Hands up and we’ll just rob ye.” The Fellow twangs.
“You ain't gonna rob us.” Sunny says. Jesse steps right to his side and puts his left hand on the other gun, standing there like some ancient rendition of a gunslinger with his hat tipped over his red brow.
“Let's put the guns away boys.” A Concerned Whore says her eyes seeming like a little girls in their fright.
“We ain't gonna do that.” The Kid says. His fellows grow bolder and step in, and there they congregate four to five while The Whores stand back frightened and leering.
“Alright now. We gonna give you five seconds to scramble.” Sunny says.
“Five.”
“Boys.” The Kid says.
“Four.” Sunny tilts his head. The Kid steps forwards and all of a sudden his bat is heading towards Sunny's head. Sunny kills him with nothing more than a half hearted pointing of his guns barrel and an explosion of gunsmoke and ball, ripping through The Kids throat and stopping him in his tracks there. He reaches up to the bubbling and burnt hole where he has been shot through as if in disbelief, his gold eyes gleaming wild as blood bubbles through his fingers and runs in rivulets as he collapses in his death gurgles. His fellows look shocked and begin to raise their hands. Jesse’s hands move as if by themselves and he shoots the rifle toter twice, once in the hip and the second time right between his eyes. He crumples there in a bloody and immediate folding right by his companion, stacked there as if already awaiting the dead cart. The two survivors turn tail and run off through the logging field, one of them howling and whimpering like a wounded dog.
“You best run!” Duncan shouts off at them, shooting off into the air with his pistol causing among the tail turners a flinching, one of them tripping and getting up moaning like a small child scraped by some accident at play. The Knights inspect the bodies, grimacing all of them except Sunny who looks overjoyed by the whole event.
“Bastards didn't even make it past the four count.”
“Shit Sunny. You didn't have to kill him.” Morgan says, turning over The Kid and closing the lids of his eyes.
“He drew on me first.” Morgan tosses aside the bat and runs a hand through his hair.
“Only a bat. And you, Jesse.” Morgan says, flipping the rifle bearer into some sort of dignified position. There his eyes stare up at Jesse pale and already glazing over, his face boyish and innocent looking in its death, almost handsome despite the red and concave bullet hole in his forehead.
Jesse only scratches at his chin.
More drunkenness, soaked in blood all the while. Drinking, drinking, more drinks down the hatch and starting to taste like nothing more than water. Sunny looks into their coin pouch and sees nothing there but dregs and coughs into one hand before turning back to his fellows and ordering another round of drinks. They set fireless camp at the edge of town, there in the dark the sounds of not quite love making wet and passionate sounds rising through the still air as lips are brought to skin. Jesse holds a whore in his arm in his privacy behind a bush and feels another hand on his shoulder. He reaches up and kisses the face there, finding the lips warm and blushed against his, the sensation wonderful. He opens his eyes and sees it is Sunny Miller grinning his grin and with a drop of blood on his chin.
“Ye bastard.” Jesse says. Sunny reaches down and kisses him on the forehead mockingly.
“You seemed like you liked it.” Sunny says. Jesse laughs before turning back to his whore and beginning to kiss her instead.